


Always Knock First

by secondhandact



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cloaca, Davesprite Has A Cloaca, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Oviposition, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Sburb/Sgrub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:06:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7417186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhandact/pseuds/secondhandact
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You know better than to investigate the weird sounds that happen all the time at your best friend's house.</i><br/> </p><p>  <i>Most of the times.</i></p><p>  <i>Well, maybe only some of the time.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>At least you always knock first.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Knock First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMockingCrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingCrows/gifts).



Your name is John Egbert, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think there was someone being choked to death behind the closed door beside the bathroom.

You don’t think anything of it. The first time you’d been in the Strider house, you’d made the mistake of checking on some weird anonymous sound behind a door, and when you’d witnessed what the oldest of the Striders had set up and was filming you’d gone straight to the kitchen and helped yourself to three shots of the strongest thing you could find. If you’d been able to bleach your eyes afterwards, you would have.There’s some things better left unseen, unsaid, and un-thought-about. 

Since then, you’ve learned that weird, awkward noises happen sometimes in the Strider residence, and you’ve actually gotten pretty used to it. Dave being your best friend means you spend a lot of time in close quarters with his closer kin, and there’s such a thing as survival instincts. Survival as in, ‘you would like your brain cells to survive’. As in, ‘sleeping without nightmares is a cool thing to do’. As in, ‘don’t open the fucking door if you aren’t prepared to face whatever’s on the other side’, and you’ve learned that what’s on the other side can be super disturbing, so you’re just not gonna do that. You’re gonna pretend you didn’t hear anything (it’s probably someone getting off in some really weird way) and go take the shower you need to feel like a person and face the day. Plus, you’re still a little hungover from drunk Mario Kart the night before. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to face the world of ‘what gets Striders off’ this early. You haven’t even had any soda yet.

* * *

You stay in the shower until it runs cold because sharing a wall with that room means you continue to hear the choking sound even under the sound of water hammering against your ears. When you shut off the water, you stand there for a second, shivering and just listening. There’s a lot of ragged gasping between the strangled sound, and some words here and there that are too muffled to be intelligible or even registered as someone specific’s voice. 

As you towel off, you can’t tell if the sound is getting louder or if you’re just paying _way_ too much attention to it. Not that it matters, really. By the time you’ve pulled your PJs on (because who gets all the way dressed before noon on a Friday, that is just out right blasphemy) you’ve made up your mind to find out what the heck is going on, because that is a _long_ time to be jerking it and hey, maybe whoever’s in that room is stuck in some weird position. That’s probably what it is, honestly. Maybe Dave’s got himself all tangled up in some weird rig while trying some new and inventive way to get himself off. Maybe (and this is probably too good to be true) it’s Dirk all stuck back there. Gosh, you hope that’s actually true. You don’t have any dirt on him. As far as you know, he’s the Prince of all the Awkward while also maintaining some weird aloof position over everyone else who played the Game, or something. Roxy tells you you just need to get to know him. 

Whatever. This isn’t the right way to make friends, but it’s at least gonna make for some good laughs, probably; so you check your phone to make sure it’s on before you rap on the door. Providing warning, like any decent person would do, means it’s okay to immediately try the knob when you don’t get someone telling you fuck off, right? “Dude, you sound like you’re dying,” you begin as you hook your head around the door, peering into the room. 

Whatever further snark you were preparing to unload on the poor unsuspecting soul in the room dies on your lips, because this isn’t a scene you could have ever prepared yourself to see.

First of all, this is _Dave sprite’s_ room, not Dirk’s or Dave’s. You know because beside the bed there’s some shredded pieces of cloth and pillows that have been all bundled together like some weird nest. Also, there’s orange feathers all over the floor. 

Also, Dave sprite is bent over the nest, his dick hard and dripping, one hand on the bed and the other pressing on his stomach. His claws are tearing into the mattress, and he’s panting, his eyes squeezed shut.

For a minute, you just stare, because there’s some wetness beneath his dick, which is orange and...kind of glowing? You don’t really have time to process that, because as you watch, he groans, and a glistening, oblong shape begins to push out from beneath his cock. When the thickest part of the egg (because that’s what it is, an _egg_ ) has slipped out, he gasps, sagging against the bed so that the egg only has to slide gently down his knee to end up safely on the ground, next to the three others already there.

It may be one of the hottest things you have ever actually seen.

He opens one eye, scowling at you. “This ain’t a peep show,” he manages, waving one hand at you, shifting in some half-assed attempt to cover up what’s going on. “Fuck off.”

You make a snap decision that is either going to be the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to you or end with your guts all over the ground. (Those are some pretty mean talons on the end of Dave sprite’s fingers.) “Or I could not do that.” When you pull the door closed behind you, you make sure to lock it.

The laugh that escapes him is more air than sound. “For once in your life could you _not_ be a jerk?” There’s real actual pain in his voice. “I don’t know if I can deal with your shit right now.”

You take a couple steps closer. “C’mon, I thought it was like, in the Strider manifesto to always be prepared for my shit all the time.” 

“Fuck you.” His wings twitch. From here, you can see all the muscles in his stomach tighten, and the sound that you’d heard so clearly from the bathroom constricts his throat. His hips are shuddering. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone who was so messed up just with _need._ Already, you can feel your own dick responding to the scene you’ve happened in on. You’re glad that your PJ pants are pretty loose. “If you want to.”

He gulps for air, glancing at you over his shoulder. For a minute, you’re not sure if he’s gonna take you seriously. (You’re not sure if you want him to, either; he’s not Dave but he is **a** Dave, though he’s one with wings and some weird junk and that is _really dang interesting_ to you right now.) “Dunno,” he hisses through gritted teeth, “if you noticed, but I’m—kinda— _nnngh_ —busy. Here.”

You’re close enough to touch him, so you do, resting your hand on the small of his back. He stiffens, but he doesn’t push you away, which is encouragement enough for you - you press a little closer to him, your hip bumping against his side as you wrap your hand around his cock. You give it a squeeze and he actually moans. “Maybe I can help.” You know that you sound smug, but you can’t help it, because he’s already turning into putty in your hand, grinding his dick forward against your palm. 

“Fuck yes you can,” he pants. There’s already pre dribbling down his shaft and over your fingers, and when you begin to move your hand, he actually _bucks._

It makes you laugh, and you pick up the pace a little bit. Already, he’s making a whole _lot_ of noises, which is totally cool with you. “What, do you not give yourself handsies anymore?”

There’s another one of those weird, breathy laughs, and he reaches back, catching your hair with keratin claws, pulling you closer to him. “It ain’t...like I got much...of a _choice,_ ” he whispers.

The idea of not being able to jack off is the shittiest thing you’ve ever heard of. “Oh, man. I might have to give you the whole works. Y’know,” you add, “Because we’re friends. And I want to help.”

He’s rolling his head against your shoulder his voice all full of moans instead of actual words. “You _really_ wanna help...slide onna your hands down... _yesss..._ ” The word is hissed encouragement, coming when your free hand presses down against the base of his cock - and, coincidentally, right at the top part of that opening. The skin under your palm is tense, trembling. “‘An’ just rub. Just— _fuck_ —”

You thought seeing him on his knees was hot. This is hotter, though, because you can _feel_ the egg stretching him from the inside out, the tension in his skin as it slides past your fingers, the slick dampness it leaves behind. “Whoa,” you whisper, daring to dip a couple fingers into his opening, feeling it contract and shrink with the egg no longer there to keep it open.

This time, he straight up snickers. “You got some weird kinks, John.”

You feel your cheeks redden, and you whip your hand away from his hole. “Like you’re complaining!”

“Only gonna complain if you stop.” He arches against you, hips shifting restlessly, which reminds you that _oh yeah, your hand is on his dick_ so you begin working him again, hand sliding down his shaft. The base of it is soaked, which just makes sliding your fingers back up over the sensitive skin that much easier.

Slowly, you slide your hand back into place over the weird bird-slit he’s got going on under his cock. Your own dick is rock hard, but you’re trying not to think about it, because this is too hot for you to worry about whether or not you’re gonna get off. For all you know, this is gonna be the only chance you get to have a go at your spritely pal, and you don’t want to blow it ~~yet~~. 

You could get used to this, though. You’ve never had someone so desperate at your mercy. Not that you want to take advantage of that. Not this time, at least. 

Still, you’re surprised when you feel the muscles beneath your fingers begin to tighten again. “You gonna lay another one?” You resist the urge to add _for me_ to that. You've been daring enough tonight without jumping the gun on getting all assertive on him.

“Y-yeah.” He nods, screwing his eyes shut. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t. You’re not about to. Not when you’re enjoying it this much. You’re dimly aware that you’re rutting against his side, your hips pumping in some mockery of what you wish you were _actually_ doing. Not that it matters, really, because he’s groaning loud enough that you don’t know if fucking him would get him this hard. 

When you slide two fingers into him, you use them to spread him wide, to make room for the egg that’s already pushing at your fingertips. “Fuck,” he pants, “John, _fuck_ —”

“Yeah, c’mon,” you whisper in response. “C’mon, we both want it, _c’mon..._ ” You’re so close, you’re _so fucking close_ —

He doesn’t make a sound, not really. It starts off as some weird choking cry and then he’s just shuddering beneath your hands. You add a third and fourth finger and his voice comes back with a vengeance, becoming a yell that echoes through the room, his cum spurting in thick, hot ropes over your still-moving hand.

Your legs are sticky, and you’re almost mad about it, but he’s still jerking against you while you’re catching your breath, and you decide that you can probably forgive him. It isn’t until the last of his twitches subside that the egg finally slips the whole way out, and you’re careful to guide it down to the floor with the rest of them. 

He’s lost his grip on both you and the bed, and he sags bonelessly down into the weird nest, half-curled around the eggs he’d just worked so hard to lay. “Fuck, that was so much _easier,_ ” he murmurs. “Maybe I should call you every month.”

You untangle your limbs from him, trying not to think about it. If you think about it, you know you’re just going to get hard all over again, and you don’t really want the shower you’re about to take to be a cold one. “You do this every month?”

He nods, closing his eyes. “Something like that.”

You grin, nudging him so that he’ll see your smile. “Dude, I can come over way more than that. You not being able to jerk off - it’s a crime.”

This is the first time he’s laughed all night without sounding like he’s in excruciating pain. You can’t decide whether or not you like that. “Come over whenever you want.”

“Hell yes.” Your legs are a little more wobbly than you expected them to be, but his eyes are closed again (already) so nobody witnesses when you almost trip trying not to step on the eggs and manage to somehow miraculously remain upright. You’re so smooth. “You gonna nap?”

You receive silence in response, which you take to mean it’s okay for you to jump ship and go shower. 

**Author's Note:**

> I never, ever feel like I have John's voice right, but that didn't make this any less fun to write. I had a blast doing this. My options were so fucking _choice_ that it was hard not to just write fills for ALL OF THEM. ~~I still might.~~
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
